


As you wish, M'Lord

by WHUMPBBY



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, I am warning you, Light Bondage, M/M, a strange and cruel mermaid!AU, after he gets some good boinking;], angst noodles, brothel talk, but mentions of it, but then who is?, expect filth and noncon at first, he will save the day, lance is non-human, no nominal rape, shiro is the man tho, surprisingly healthy attitude towards bdsm taken the premise?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 23:13:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8263976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WHUMPBBY/pseuds/WHUMPBBY
Summary: Lance was born a mermaid.Now he's an exotic whore in an expensive brothel that tries to make sense of his new life and forced humanity.In-between there was pain and blood, and tragedy he'd rather not think about. Now, a new patron starts buying him for a few hours every week, and the man known to him only as a M'Lord may be the most confusing thing in his new life yet.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, the pov may be a bit confusing at first - Lance is a non-person at the beginning of this story, so his pov has no name. As we go along, and Shiro appears, he will gain a sense of having a name.

The men usually came at night. They entered the little room that became the entirety of his new world, the door opening softly for them by one of the skinny girls that took their coats and hats, and disappeared swiftly behind the barrier of wood and iron.

He imagined that if he only paid enough attention he would be able to differentiate between them, maybe recognise the ones that came more than once, but why would he do it? As it was, they were all just a procession of carefully combed hair, fitted waistcoats and sweaty hands. Sometimes they threw orders he listened to, because it was the only thing he knew how to do that got him food at the end of the day.

Some of them spoke to him softly and touched him gently before their hands and words grew bold, some didn’t bother with trying to show him kindness. The end of their visits rarely ever differed, though, they either pushed his legs apart or urged him to open his mouth, guiding his head the way they wanted it. Some were considerate enough to let him breathe enough to not get lightheaded.

The ones that weren’t - well, those never come back for a second time.  

Breathing on land never became easier and so the air was precious to him now and everything that robbed him of it was unwelcome. And even with his teeth filed down he could still make his displeasure known.

That was about as far as his awareness went now - he needed to breathe, he needed to eat, he needed to stay in the good graces of the human owning him now. As numb as this new life made him, it was still better than the one previous humans trapped him into.

He wasn’t interested in the games that some of the men wanted to play with him. When they shouted or hit him, he curled up to protect his body, when they tied him up he endured it with his teeth pressed tight. He used to fight, at the beginning, used to struggle when the meager freedom he had left was being taken from him time after time - but he stopped doing that. They always untied him afterwards, some even seemed apologetic - murmuring words that he supposed were praise or apologies. He wasn’t sure, there were still times when human language was incomprehensible to him.

He was glad that they never expected him to speak back - the rouse would be discovered for sure if they’ve heard their language come out mangled and guttural out of the lips they kept praising for their softness. It was enough to make noises - breathy gasps were the favourite, along with the high pitched whines, they made the men eager to finish whatever they’ve wanted with him.

Those weren’t hard to make, all in all, his body still felt what's being done to it, some of it wasn’t even that unpleasant, if still incomprehensible.

No, the hardest part was to stop the moans from becoming something else.

_Let me go._

_Let me go back to the sea..._

 

* * *

 

He dreamed of the sea every night and every morning he woke up drenched in sweat.

 

* * *

 

Time passed, nothing changed, but as much as he couldn't be bothered to pay attention to the men, one of them started to stand out somewhat from the rest.

A tall one, with wide shoulders and hair clipped short. A curious lock of white on the front was somewhat unusual, as was the scar running across the man’s face. He was always dressed in the clothes that fit him like second skin, from the starched shirt, to fitted waistcoat, from perfectly tailored suit to a pair of soft velvet gloves hiding his hands from view. And none of it ever went off. The most the man ever removed was his jacket. He never undressed.

It felt unusual to feel the touch of soft material when the man stroked his skin. It was pleasant, the man was never harsh with him. Actually, the complete opposite, he was always unflinchingly polite and good natured.

When he came in for the first time he tipped his hat in a gesture some other men used to do when meeting women, before removing it and handing it to the waiting girl with a thankful smile.

He observed the man as he stepped deeper into the room - seemingly unsure, but also confident.

“Ah, good evening.” The man spoke, looking at him carefully. “Do you have a name I can call you?”

Not for the first time he was asked that. There’s a tag on his collar, it was usually enough to point at it and wait.

The man’s face flinched in a grimace that was not unusual, and smoothed over quite quickly, before hw nodded. “Lancelot. Nice to make your acquaintance.”

Lancelot? Oh yes, it was the name humans gave him, he kept forgetting.

What was _acquaintance_?

No matter.

He slid from the bed, easy and light like a feather, and stepped close to the man who, predictably, opened his eyes wider at the way he moved. Many men did. Almost all of them. They were all the same, after all.   

This one was there for the same thing all the others did, even if he went about it gently and almost, well, kindly. Some men looked ashamed as they used him, turned their heads away, oftentimes blamed him for doing his job and making them come back. He pitied them, these disgusting, dishonest beings.

But this one didn’t… strangely, he didn’t seem ashamed. Just - wary. Curious? Unflinchingly gentle even as he used him.

The serving girl called him M’Lord. He wondered if it means anything above the useless human courtesy.

M’Lord used his mouth that first time. Asked for it politely, stroking his face, soft fingertip running around his lips, barely pressing at the bottom one to guide his them open.  

He went to his knees without prompting, hands raising to the man’s fly, deftly undoing the buttons. The flesh that spilled from the inside was sizeable even in its half-hard state, head flushed dark. He gave it a measuring stroke. It was nice, warm, a good weight in his hands. Were his teeth unfilled, it would make a decent meal.

As it was, M’Lord sighed deeply at the caress and his knees buckled, sitting him heavily on the edge of the bed.

Gloved hands landed on his hair and he stilled, waiting for a push or pull, for some sort of guidance, but none came. Just strong fingers gently combing through his hair and a pair of stormy grey eyes looking at him with a sort of muted wonder. The beginning of a blush made the scar running across the man’s nose more visible - a pale jagged line of dead skin that marred the perfect beauty of the handsome face and at the same time accented it even more.

“Lancelot… can I call you Lance?” M’Lord asked and he nodded absentmindedly. He’s been called worse things.

And, anyway, after he took M’Lord’s cock into his mouth it made no difference, few men were able to speak when he set out to work.

The first lick was for them, a teasing motion to please the men - slow and careful, as if he never had a cock down his throat. They liked to think him innocent to this, so he played the part. A slow long pull of a tongue from the base to the tip, leaving underside wet and tender. A swirl at the top, under the glands, a breath of hot moist air over the sensitive head.

By the time he dipped the tip of his tongue into the slit, M’Lord was panting lightly overhead, gloved hands dropping to his shoulders, still soft, but now more purposeful as they caressed the skin there. The man spread his legs eagerly and he took his place between them, eager to get this over with.

“Wait…” M’Lord panted. “Wait, here. Take this.”

A pillow was showed into his face and he startled. What? Why…

“For your knees.”

Oh. The man was blushing now and averting his eyes - embarrassed? He had his cock out, hard in a whore’s hand, and he was blushing over a kind gesture?

Humans were so very strange. Still, the gesture didn’t go unappreciated.

He took M’Lord into his mouth in one go, right down to the root where the dark curly hair tickled his nose. He knew it was good, this was his speciality, after all, with no reflex telling him to pull back, with a wide, open throat and the tight ridges of gills that stroked and caressed any flesh he decided to take in. M’Lord was thick, but not enough for him to unhinge his jaw - that was something men didn’t appreciate seeing, apparently, - he could squeeze him with his lips and use his tongue to press these tender spots where the veins protruded.

M’Lord gasped and squirmed, hands momentarily fluttering across his shoulders, touching the high collar around his neck, before they dropped down, strong thumbs pressing into his collarbones, but not too tightly, just so, slowly caressing the thin skin over the bird-like bones. It was pleasant, too, so when he pulled off of the cock, he didn’t do it all the way, stopping at the head, tongue laving wetly across the tip, teeth nibbling gently at the glands, and M’Lord cried out, hunching over himself.

He went down again, hands holding the man’s thighs from snapping shut, fingers biting into the trembling muscles, feeling the strength hidden by the flimsy fabric. It felt like there was a wild animal under his hands that he had to gentle, he had to calm it before it took off in excitement. He dared a look up through his dark fringe, just as he was pulling back again - M’Lord’s head was thrown back, baring the long line of his neck, tendons standing out sharply, skin glistening in the candlelight. He sucked the cock back in and watched as the adam’s apple bobbed and the muscles of the strong jaw worked soundlessly.

He released the flesh with a wet smack and blew cool air on it - and the man whimpered as if struck. His cock stood up proudly, now, slick with saliva, flushed and stiff, curving slightly against the left hip.

That was more like it.

“L-Lance, _a-ah_ …” The man groaned. “You’re so good… _so good_ …”

Praise wasn’t appreciated as much, but the soft touch was - as long as the man stayed gentle ‘Lance’ was going to treat him good. His hair was shorn short for that very reason - too short to grasp as some men liked to do when they came. He hoped that the Matron warned M’Lord what he can lose if he does that.

M’Lord didn't grab his hair when he came. He was almost ridiculously well behaved throughout it, actually, not even making much noise. He pushed one gloved finger into his own mouth and bit down on it to stifle the groan as his hips bucked minutely, his seed spilling across ‘Lance’s’ face.

The fluid was sticky and warm and M’Lord seemed fascinated with the way it dripped slowly down his cheek. Then, out of all things he could do, the man had thanked him, stood up and left in no rush.

He wouldn’t pay him any mind at all - men came and went, after all…

If only he didn't return so often.

 

* * *

  

M’Lord was a man of his word, as it turned out, and since he said he’ll return every seven days, that’s what happened.

Every visit was like a continuation of the last - they were slowly learning things about one another and it was a strange experience. The man went from being simply serviced to enthusiastically taking part in the process. They’ve spent one full visit as M’Lord tried to find the best position for having his cock sucked - the one that seemed to work the best for him was when they were both laying on the bed, on their sides, M’Lord with his head resting on one bent hand while the other one was buried in the dark hair of the ‘Lance’, holding his head steady as he rutted between his loose jaws.

It was convenient, he didn't have to even do much - just keep his throat open and hum lowly from time to time. When the man came it was with a deep sight and a whispered praise, and Lance was almost falling asleep right there.

 _‘Lance’_ became a name he responded to, because the man was adamant about using it with him. So be it, after the third visit, he decided to be a Lance to this man. He imagined it to be some sort of a pet name, because M’Lord surely had an affinity for treating him like some exotic wonder.

“ _The way you move.._ .” the man groaned against his chest often, as they sat on the bed and Lance worked his ass against the clothed erection underneath him. “ _It’s amazing… so good… so smooth…”_

It was a slow game M’Lord liked to play, to have his pleasure dictated by the whore straddling his lap. There was no penetrative sex yet, the man hasn’t even looked underneath his skirts - he just had Lance sit on his lap, held him firmly by the sides, and grind down against his groin, rhythm sensuous and unhurried. Everything with this man was just like that, as if he had all the time in the world and shared it with his Lance whenever he came.

“How do you move… like that…” M’Lord was muttering into his collarbones, big hands slowly stroking up and down his sides, plucking at the ties of his corset, smoothing down his thighs. Lips whispered against his nipples every time Lance rose on his knees. He might have done it a few times more than he intended - just to feel that feather-like tickles. “ _Like you’re… made of water… hmmm, Lance…_ ”

Well, one could move like that when their skeleton was more cartilage than bones - never fully adjusted to living on land, never prepared to spending so much time out of water. That’s why this room was a prison and a refugee - outside of it, how far would he be able to go before his legs gave out and he collapsed in a pained heap? The few square feet around the bed were enough of a distance for him, the dozen of steps down the hallway to the washroom were about as much as he could traverse.

Escape was futile when he was so far from water…

But M’Lord was a man he didn't mind straining his back for, as it turned out, there was a sort of satisfaction to be found in watching the man come - his head resting on Lance’s chest, lips open and bitten-red, eyes closing against the will of their owner. That low, breathy gasp that struggled to become a full-fledged moan, but was always held back by a hair.

Lance didn't mind, some men didn’t like to be loud. He allowed the strong arms to go around his waist and hold on to him; after a while he built up the courage to hold the man in return. To run his hands across the silk of the vest on his hunched back, grasp the back of M’Lord’s neck where the skin was always hot to the touch, smooth the discolored fringe away from his sweaty face to see more of his eyebrows pushing together, more of his eyelids fluttering and lips gasping for air.

And the thought of ‘ _I did that_ ’ kept raising in his mind so that every time M’Lord was walking through the door, he was leaving a bit of warmth behind.

 

* * *

 

Of course, the second shoe was always going to drop. Men didn’t come to him to be held and soothed. They came for one thing only and he should have expected the things to escalate with this particular one.    

Although none of them ever voiced their desires as a reasonable request yet.

“It’s just something I would like to try,” M’Lord said quite calmly. They were sitting on the opposite sides of the bed, a coil of dark blue rope lying between them like a snake ready to snap and bite. “I mean, only if you are up to it.”

Lance eyed the rope warily; so far his experiences with ropes weren’t  acceptable, but the scenario the man presented wasn’t anything too drastic. Quite tame, really.

And it was not like ‘Lance’ could refuse a client anything, the Matron made it perfectly clear what will happen to him if he displeases men that were keeping the few crucial rules she allowed him to have.

So he circled the bed, hips swaying the way he knew M’Lord liked to watch, and turned his back to the man, signaling his consent.

The man wa son his feet in a blink, pressed against his back, hands running up and down the stiff sides of the corset, caressing him through the thick fabric. Then the laces were grasped and pulled - the corset tightening at the waist, cinching it down. It didn't hurt and M’Lord stopped way before it became hard to breathe.

“Is that okay?” He asked with concern, but his hands on the laces were steady. “Not too tight?”

What was the purpose of that if it wasn’t too tight? He didn’t understand, but let the man do as he liked. The strings were tied into a knot and M’Lord came around and smoothed his hands down his sides, admiring the way the corset hugged them snuggly. He circled his waist with long fingers and his thumbs almost met over Lance’s bellybutton.

The sight of it tightened the muscles in his navel. M’Lord hummed to himself, pleased, before reaching for the rope.

It was softer than Lance imagined it to be.

“See?” M’Lord let him insect it to his heart's content. “It won’t bruise you, I promise. If you don’t pull too hard, it’s made to simply hold you down. Is that alright?”

It wasn’t, but Lance nodded anyway.

In short order his hands were pulled behind his back and a quiet command told him to hold them there. The rope first encircled one wrist, then the other, crossing them over one another and tying them together with a dozen repeating loops. It wasn’t tight - but it still made for a solid trap.

He pulled at his arms, an unexpected moment of panic overtaking his hard-learned obedience, but the bonds held firm, he couldn’t free his hands at all!

“Easy.” Velvet touch rested on his shoulders, stroked up and down his chilled skin. “Don’t be afraid, it’s not permanent. Breathe now, deep, in and out. Calm your thoughts. You’re doing so good now, let me take care of you.” Nearly hypnotised by the calm cadence of the man’s words, Lance did as told: he breathed, in and out, slowly, together with him. He cleared his mind of thoughts, of fear, leaving only physical sensations that the situation evoked in his flesh. “There, just like that, calm. Nice and slow. You can do it. I won’t hurt you, nothing will hurt you here.”

A length of it was put into his hand, to his surprise, and M’Lord gently closed Lance’s fingers over it.

“When it gets too much, you can simply pull at this end and the knot will come undone. You can be free instantly and stop whatever is making you uncomfortable.”    

Oh, that was much more acceptable. Again, the point of it was obscure - was it to make him feel safer? But why? Didn’t that defeat the purpose of having him tied in the first place?

He looked up to the man and was met with a small smile full of understanding, as if his doubt showed on his face and was easy to read. M’Lord raised his hands and a strap of pale lace between them - expensive looking and quite beautiful. “Open up.”

He did.

The lace was pushed lightly between his teeth, coiled around the back of his head and once more, creating a sort of a gag that wasn’t very successful, but surely more visually pleasing than a leather belt - more comfortable, too. He chewed at it for a moment, trying to get his bearing and the feel of the fabric. It was already soaking up saliva and he knew it will be absolutely ruined by the end of the… whatever M’Lord wanted with him.  

And M’Lord seemed to want quite a lot, judging by the way his eyes roamed Lance’s bound figure, from his naked feet to the skirts of the corset, to the slightly straining shoulders. A bulge forming under his belt said that he certainly liked the view.

“Get on the bed, now.” He did, although it was much harder with his hands tied like that. He crawled on his knees until he was in the centre of the bed. “Turn on your back.” He did that, too.

M’Lord sat at the side of the mattress, perfect and polished, and flawless. His eyes, however, were different - calm grey darkened and brightened at the same time. His gaze was full of fire held in by a force of will.

“You are so beautiful like that,” he breathed out, running his fingers up Lance’s legs, from the ankles to knees, to mid-thighs. Barely there touch, running up on the outsides and back down on the sensitive insides. “So soft and pliant.” Adventurous hand sneaked up, under the hem of the skirt, pushing it up into the crook of the hip. Lance shivered - soft touch and anticipation mixed into one heady concoction.  

The hand disappeared under the fabric and slid closer to where his thighs met, to that secretive place where skin was warm and soft and hairless.

M’Lord’s eyebrows rose when his fingers roamed, searching for something, but not finding it. Lance didn't pay attention, the touch _there_ was raising goosebumps on his skin, his stomach pulled in and he moaned weakly, letting his head drop back.

“Spread your legs,” another quiet command. “I want to see.”    

After a moment of hesitation, he did as told.

M’Lord leaned in closer, and Lance felt a bit unsure. Men were often interested in his parts, but rarely - this much and this honesty. He had to spread his thighs more to accommodate the wide shoulders and the hands that touched him _there_. The flimsy ‘skirt’ covering him slid to lay over his stomach, baring his groin completely to curious grey eyes.

“This is… huh.” M’Lord hummed and looked up at him. His thumbs, dressed in soft velvet, rested on the sides of the slit and stroked slowly up and down, and the man watched when a shiver shook Lance’s body in reaction to his touch. M’Lord looked pleased and did it again, _oh so carefully_ touching the small fleshy lips, ghosting his fingertips nearly at the joining point, but not yet.

Lance didn’t expect that, it was strange… it felt nice, but was so strange. His body locked against the shivers, but he couldn’t stop the man with his hands trapped as they were. He pulled at the bindings, but not hard, more as a reflex when another wave of warmth ran through him. The end of the rope in his grasp tempted, but… he was curious.

“Does it feel good?” M’Lord asked, voice low and rich, and sweet. Lance swallowed around the lace between his teeth and after a moment of consideration nodded, once. It seemed to be enough. “Good. And when I do that?”

One of the thumbs pressed at the moist slit, just a tip of it edging inside, and rubbed up and down, from the top to the very bottom, gently like a whisper, and Lance flinched, gasped and twisted his torso to the side. One of his legs came up without his conscious will.

M’Lord’s eyes were sparkling as he watched him, calm and curious, cataloguing his every reaction, every little twitch. “I take it as yes,” he whispered. “And this?”

Lance glanced down, pulled to the sight like a moth to the flame, unable to tear his eyes away. The collar made it difficult to bend his head so low, it pushed at his throat, but he still tried to level his eyes at his own parts and the man’s face hovering a breath’s length away from them.

A feeling of unease grew in his belly; the man didn't look like he wanted to penetrate him and none other men ever wanted to explore him there in such way. The softness of the touch was strange and almost off-putting in contrast to his tied hands and tightened corset. Like this man not only took pleasure in his distress, but his pleasure, too?

Because, the thumbs gently massaging the sides of his opening were doubtlessly there to cause him pleasure, when they rubbed across the sensitive edges and pressed the lips together to rub one against another. And Lance realised with a jolt of surprise that the slit was wet and the man didn’t reach for lube yet.  

“So soft,” M’Lord mused quietly, grey eyes fixed forward with near scientific interest. “You’re getting wet, is that a good thing? It usually is with women. Is it so you can be entered here too, I wonder?”

He gasped again when his lips were parted, just a bit, a quarter of an inch. M’Lord stared at the glistening pink of the bared flesh and Lance felt himself flushing with something that could be shame. Tension rose in his shoulders. This was too strange, too… He shook his head - a low, aborted move, more doubt than denial. This wasn’t… what he was used to. This wasn’t…

M’Lord blew slowly across the parted slit and Lance’s head snapped back against the pillows, a wordless moan falling out of his throat as pleasure raced up his spine.

“That’s a nice reaction. You’re very sensitive here, aren’t you?”

Another waft of warm air and another whimper, fingers more insistent, parting him further, one slipping in to caress the soft membranes making up the inside, making sparks explode under Lance’s eyelids. His stomach concaved and he tried to pull more air than he knew what to do with.

M’Lord played with his opening, explored the textures of the inner lips, humming to himself as the rest of his fingers rubbed on the outside. He felt himself getting wetter by the second, the slick slowly covering the velvet of the gloves, making the glide easier and smoother, and there was a finger slipping deeper than the rest. And he had men inside, had _things_ inside, but somehow this one finger felt thicker and warmer than the stiffest of cocks. His hips bucked and his lips clenched around the digit, and M’Lord made a sound of approval what went straight to Lance’s core. He bit hard on the lace, now wet and ruined in his mouth, pulled at his hands, helpless and flushed and the man hasn’t yet done anything to him…

Or maybe he did. He did the strangest things to him.

“Is this…?” His voice suddenly took on a deeper cadence. ”Oh.”

Lance looked back down, weakly opening his eyes, and locked them with the man, before he was guided lower by a fascinated look, down to his slit - and he almost moaned out loud, because his lips were swollen and parting all by themselves, shiny with moisture, and there - on top of the opening, a rounded nub was poking from underneath them. He stared, breathless, as a finger in a wet velvet glove slowly glided down his navel to end up on the nub and rub a slow circle around it.

Lance’s eyes watered and a high pitched sound escaped his ruined throat, his knees almost came together over the man’s head as he spasmed. The circles didn’t end even as he twisted and turned, trying to escape, bucking up his hips to chase the touch, not knowing what he wants. M’Lord seemed to know, though, and pushed his hips down, pressed his elbows to Lance’s thighs to hold them steady and open for him, circling and circling around the new part that swelled and grew, spearing up in a slight curve against Lance’s belly.

Grey eyes went wide with wonder as their owner coaxed the new bodypart out into the open with the gentlest touch, driving Lance to madness as his other hand dipped a finger inside, where wet tightness trapped it in a vice like grip of rippling, swelling flesh.

“This is… exotic, alright...” M’Lord groaned when the unexpected member finally seemed to come out fully. He spread his fingers against it, conscious of the way his every touch send a shock of sensation through the body under his hands. “Does it always happen like that?”

Lance was barely coherent enough to understand the question, with the way his spine arched and his hips shook. A whimpering keen came from behind the lace, soft material almost chewed through. His hands ached, his mind ached to pull the knot apart... but he didn’t feel trapped, not exactly. Rather, the lack of movement left him feeling lighter, somehow, it tightened his stomach in some strange anticipation, sent butterflies fluttering in his insides every time he pulled and the rope pulled back. He could end it if he really wanted to - this was powerlessness of his own making. It made it bearable. Made it intoxicating.

He could only shake his head helplessly, because no one ever made it happen. Not like that. It was… It wasn’t supposed to happen like that, not with a human, not with just hands…

“Does it feel good?” M’Lord asked again and looked like he really expects an answer.

Lance nodded before he managed to stop himself, the man had him under some strange magic, he couldn't stop looking into his eyes. Warm and grey, like a stormy sea, they saw his distress and gentled even further.

He couldn’t stop looking into them even as M’Lord opened his mouth and licked his member top to bottom in one wide stroke.

It sent im sprawling with his back arched, moaning weakly at this new attack. The wet appendage inspecting his cock, slipping between the lips below, alongside the fingers - and two? When did the second one join? - wetting him even more. It pushed in, past the first set of lips, relaxing the muscle as the fingers probed deeper, _inside_ . They were _inside_! Poking and teasing, slipping in and out slowly, then faster, deeper and deeper. Soon enough they were so deep that the knuckles pressed tightly to the opening, and they started to wiggle against his rippling insides, hooked and stroked his hot walls, pushing the slick wetness out.

Lance huffed and whimpered, all that was too much for him. When the hot mouth descended on his cock he released a piercing squeal; his eyes rolled back into his head when M’Lord started to suck on him and hum softly, of all the things! Molten metal was boiling just under his bellybutton and he couldn't stop it. His trapped hands clenched at the bedding under his back, his legs fell open so far his joints creaked with strain, but he couldn’t care less as his hips kept undulating, pushing him into the man’s mouth, on his fingers, undecided where they want him more.

The corset made it hard to breathe and in some mad way it only added to the sensations - being controlled so entirely and effortlessly, but with such softness and care… His body, in such distress that it wanted to open his gills to pull in much needed air, but unable to do even that, as he was kept dancing like a doll on the strings of those fingers that pushed in so far he swore they entered his stomach, and hooked on something that felt like a punch in the gut… and he came with a shout that rose high and fell down into a prolonged whimper of pleasure bordering on pain.

He came down slowly, the fingers still in, but not attacking him anymore, just stroking him slowly, gentling him down as his opening clenched and pulled at them in quick succession, confused muscles not knowing what to do. His cock twitched as it spilled, shrinking slowly back into hiding. Gasp after laboured basp, Lance regained his sanity, eyes full of tears and mouth smeared with saliva.

A kiss at his navel made him shiver all over and he squirmed to escape the tickling lips. But the man between his legs didn't let him. He kissed him again, higher. When the skin disappeared under the stiff corset, he kissed the fabric over the bellybutton, the end of the breastbone, the nipple peeking over the satin finish, then the other. The hollow between the collarbones.

Lance gaped as the man rose and covered his trembling body with his own, strong shoulders tensing, a hand slipping underneath his waist to grasp his bound wrists as lips landed on his cheek, on his brow, kissing away the tears hanging on to his eyelashes, to finally press to his own lips. Trembling and bitten, they parted easily even though Lance didn’t know what’s happening anymore, his head was full of cotton, thoughts slow and racing at the same time. He whimpered again when a tongue slipped into his mouth, across the fabric of the makeshift gag, to find his tongue and stroke it through the lace, wet and hot, and slippery.

He pulled at his trapped wrists only to feel how the warm grip tightens around them for a moment, before they were let go. One pull on the knot and the rope relaxed, and Lance had to smother a feeling of regret at the regained freedom. It was so strange… His hands flopped to the sides, useless and strained, wrists marked with red lines. M’Lord lifted each of them separately and kissed the nearly-bruises, then the soft hollows on the insides of his elbows, and Lance watched, mesmerised, not knowing what was expected of him now. Was anything expected of him anymore?

He pulled his legs together, the space between them tingling and sore. The man let him, stroked his thighs and hips with firm, soothing touches, rubbed his wrists and stiff fingers in his big careful hands. He undid the gag at the very end, pulling the lace slowly from between Lance’s lips and throwing it aside, before he sat back and let his feet touch the floor.

Lance didn’t have the will - nor the strength - to move. Sprawled on the bed like a broken toy, he watched the man put himself together, peel off his gloves on the way to the water basin, wash his hands and face, right his shirt and vest. A few moments and M’Lord was back to the impeccable look he always showed up with, not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle visible on his sleeves.

He expected him to go. Like always, to turn away and leave, as he always did. After showering him with that strange tenderness and care, to walk out of the door like nothing ever happened.

M’Lord pulled his coat on and picked up his cane, not looking at him at all.

It stung, somehow, in a small place somewhere deep that didn’t have a right to exist. Lance forced his limbs to move, to turn to the side and curl up, so at least he could stew in his confusion and weariness without being seen.

But before the man left, a hand landed on his flank. Soft as always, stroking gently along the ribbing of the corset. “Thank you,” lips whispered against his ear. “That was… thank you for letting me see.”    

There was nothing to thank for.

Not like he had a choice.

When the door closed behind M’Lord, ‘Lance’ stopped existing until the next visit.

 

 

 


End file.
